Johnerella
by randomplotbunny
Summary: Jim is Prince Charming, Mycroft is the Fairy Godmother, everyone knows what Sherlock's problem is, and John is... well, John. Johniarty with a Cinderella twist.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot- which is such a shame because I'm sure that they'd all have far more fun if I did own them.**

Pulling his gun, John pushed the tuxedo clad man behind him and out of the line of fire and took his shot- at the same time as the assassin fired.

The bullet grazed his left bicep, causing him to drop the weapon, but he was satisfied when his mark went down with a hole between the eyes.

He placed pressure on his wounded arm and ran, he couldn't risk his identity becoming known at this point- not when he'd just killed a man to save the life of Jim Moriarty.

Making his way outside, and into the ubiquitous nondescript black car, he readjusted his flowing skirts as Anthea passed him a med-kit.

"Thanks." He said politely as the car took off.

"No problem...sister." John gave her a look, even though she hadn't raised her eyes from her phone, and went back to stanching the red flow coming from his arm.

He was going to need stitches, he realized just as he thought: How did my night devolve into this?

The day before:

"Don't worry, I've got it. Don't mind me." The blonde resident of flat B of 221 Baker street said as he brought several full bags of grocery items up the stairs and into his shared home.

He wouldn't feel so put upon if only he could get some help from his demanding flatmate once in a while.

Pushing open the door he saw a not uncommon sight sitting in his chair: Mycroft.

"Ah! Dr. Watson, so good to see you again." He said in that insincere tone of his. John was beginning to think the man spent more time in their flat than he ever did in his own.

"Hello." He said politely as he took the bags into the kitchen, and immediately backed out again.

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"What did you do to the kitchen?" The blonde was very proud at how calm he was sounding.

"Experiment."

"Sherlock... you do realize that I just CLEANED that kitchen, don't you? Took me nearly seven hours? I went through five gallons of bleach? Nearly poisoned myself on the fumes? Any of this ringing any bells?" For all his anger John was remarkably calm about walking into a kitchen coated with blood- from sources he'd rather remain ignorant of- and with another marathon cleaning session in his near future.

It wasn't as if he had expected anything to remain clean for long, he was more disappointed than upset that he would have to start cleaning again so soon, really.

It was sad that his life had been reduced to being the unpaid personal servant and nursemaid of his deductive genius of a flatmate.

"Of course I remember John, it is what gave me the idea for this experiment after all."

"What? Is your experiment to see how long it will take me to clean up this mess as compared to the last time, or is it to see how much dirt I can live with before I bludgeon you with scrub brush?!" Realizing he was yelling he tried to calm his breathing.

"The first, you would never use a scrub brush to kill me: too messy." Not knowing what to say to that, John just dropped his shopping and headed up to his room.

The last thing he heard before he was out of earshot was Mycroft's condescending voice.

"Dear brother, are you honestly trying to drive the poor man insane?" Slamming his door shut he refused to come out until he had calmed down.

It was late that evening, after Mrs. Hudson had complained enough about the horrific smell- John was lucky to have not seen the offal filling the sink or the pig carcass shoved in the stove- and made Sherlock ask his brother for a cleaning crew to come by and clean the kitchen to spotlessness once more, when John would finally come back down.

Taking a seat in his chair, and completely ignoring the git lost in his mind palace across from him, the doctor picked up the folder Mycroft had left behind and began reading.

He was on his second read through, and making mental notes of all the people they would need to keep an eye on, when Sherlock finally came back to reality.

"Put that down, you're not going. We agreed."

"And just when did we agree to that?" He asked as if he didn't know the answer.

"Earlier."

"I've been in my room all afternoon, we never discussed anything. And I'm going. You'll need someone to watch your back." Turning a page he went back to reading, but of course the barmy bastard had to go and rip the folder from his hands.

"I said no, John. And I'll be fine on my own."

"Sherlock! Mycroft thinks Moriarty will be there, you can not go in alone!"

"Then I'll take Lestrade! At least he can make an arrest if necessary, all you can do is get strapped to bombs and make things difficult." Before John could say another word the tall detective had flounced out of the room and slammed his bedroom door.

All the while cursing the foolishness of genius John made himself some supper- Mycroft had even been generous enough as to restock their refrigerator with edible food(though there was really no telling how long it would all stay edible with Sherlock around)- watched some crap telly and went to bed.

When he got up the next morning Sherlock was gone, Lestrade refused to take his calls and he realized that he had no idea where the masked ball was supposed to take place later that evening so he couldn't even crash it.

"Bollocks." And that expressed his sentiments exactly.

As it wasn't yet ten in the morning, and the party was to start at seven, John did something he had promised himself and Sherlock that he would never do: he asked Mycroft for help.

Well... more like demanded it once he had made it to the man's office.

"Dr. Watson, what a pleasant surprise. And what can I do for you this fine day?" The 'minor government official' said as he continued to look over some documents. Even upside down and from across a large desk John could see that they were papers that he could be accused of treason just for knowing about.

Clearing his throat he got straight to the point.

"Sherlock has refused to let me protect him tonight, and has decided to take Greg with him instead." He didn't miss the sudden tightening of the ginger-haired man's jaw at the mention of his lover being put into such a dangerous position, John wanted to feel bad about using this bit of information to his advantage- he really did- but making the most powerful man in Britain squirm was just too much to his advantage at the moment.

"And so you come to me. Why, may I ask?"

"Yes, well... I want you to get me into the ball. I want to be able to watch Sherlock's- and Greg's'- backs, and preferably without them knowing I'm there until it's too late to send me packing."

"That can all be arranged. You do know what the goal tonight is going to be, don't you?"

"Yeah, I managed to read that part before Sherlock took the folder away: 'The Prince's engagement announcement is going to be used as a front for a terrorist cell to buy weapons.' I believe that sums it up. O, and there is a chance Moriarty will be in attendance as well." The elder Holmes brother finally looked into the ex-soldier's eye at this.

Giving a nod at whatever he saw there, the British Government stood and led the way to a private car; handing John a copy of the information he had given Sherlock the day before as they walked.

"Do memorize the faces- though I'm sure you don't need to do so for the one we have no photograph of- the ball is a masked one so it won't do you much good, but there is no excuse for not being thoroughly prepared." John opened the file as he slipped into the spacious backseat of Mycroft's private vehicle.

Not bothering to ask where they were headed as it was probably well above his security clearance anyway, John simply began to reread what he had been reading the night before and tucking the faces away in his minds eye for later.

It was going to be a little like IED spotting, he realized: Try to spot the camouflaged threat while not being distracted by all the places that it could be hidden.

Tonight was going to be lovely he just knew, and he didn't even know what he was going to wear yet.

"We're taking care of that now." Mycroft said, speaking up for the first time since they had entered the vehicle and seeming to read John's very mind.

It wasn't nearly as creepy as it would have been back before he had met Sherlock, he thought as the car came to a stop inside of an underground- and very private and highly secured- parking garage.

"Shall we?" The umbrella carrying man said as he stepped out of the vehicle and led the way to a private elevator.

Not knowing where they where going, or what to expect once they got there, John just kept reading until the doors opened onto the third floor.

It was a tailor's shop.

A very high-end, ultra-exclusive, if you don't wipe your bum with one hundred pound notes we don't even know that you exist, nose in the air, overly posh tailor's shop.

A pair of socks from this place probably cost more than John would earn in a year.

"Two years, actually. But don't worry, you're not the one fitting the bill today." Mycroft assured the stunned blonde as he walked passed the snobbish counter worker and through the curtain to the back room. John quickly followed.

The backroom was almost as upscale as the front had been, the only real difference being the racks of already made clothes hanging ready to be perfectly fitted to their new owners.

"Now we need to find you something to wear that Sherlock won't immediately see through to see that it's you." The tall man said as he headed over to a rack of fine suits.

But John started walking over to the opposite wall and began looking at the clothes hanging there.

"A dress, John. Really?"

"He'd never expect it was me."

"Yes... but could you pass yourself off as a woman for hours at a time?" At that John just smirked and turned to the besuited man, shifting his center of gravity and the timbre of his voice as he did so- causing not one, but both of Mycroft's eyebrows to join his hairline.

"I was in the Army sir, and soldiers will do, and have done, most everything to pass the time and stifle the boredom of our down time." John now had a soft, husky voice with a slight Scottish bur that just dripped sensuality, he accompanied it with gentle hand movements- not the over-done gestures of drag queens- that sealed the illusion of this person being an elegant Lady.

The only thing ruining the effect was John's short military hair cut and frumpy male clothing. He was even the perfect height to put into high heels without making him look disgustingly tall for a woman.

Mycroft gaped like a fish for a full ten seconds- which John equated to half an hour in normal people- before refinding his voice.

"So... so, a dress then." Without adding anything else he began looking at several of the flashier options, but John had his eye set on a dark blue and purple one buried deep amongst the others.

"This one." He said with finality as he saunted- and Mycroft didn't even know where the doctor had learned to do that with his hips- over to a mirror to see how well it matched his height and complexion.

It was perfect.

With an attached collar piece that was part of the design his Adam's apple wouldn't need any other covering, the lapels down the front would help mask his otherwise flat chest; the skirt gathered at the hips and flared out like a true ball gown should and would make his waist seem more femininely curved, but the best part about it was the color.

It was mostly midnight blue, and really brought out his eyes, but had trimmings of purple lace here and there that drew the eye to all the right places. There was also little hidden golden thread embroidered designs across the bodice and in the folds of the skirt.

The whole thing weighed a lot since the skirt was so elaborate, but it was nothing compared to a heavy field pack so that wouldn't be a problem.

As John was admiring his selection in the mirror, Mycroft was busy on his phone making the rest of the arrangements needed and getting the tailor to set up for an emergency fitting.

John only became aware that things were happening around him when a hand came to rest on his elbow.

"If Sir would care to change into his dress we can begin the fitting." The assistant tailor- the actual tailor was busy discussing with Mycroft the importance of a firearm access slot- pointed John to a curtained off dressing room to change in.

Coming out wearing the dress- it needed to be let out in the shoulders and taken in in the waist he already knew- he was met with the sight of several boxes of shoes, open and all matching the dress and just his size.

For the first time John began to wonder just how many other men got dresses made here.

"If Sir will select the shoe he wishes to wear we can begin the fitting." Knowing it was necessary- if the dress was hemmed up to showcase high-heels and he ended up wearing flats that could spell disaster for the fabric that would drag on the ground- John began to look over the selections.

"No stilettos- I've never mastered running in them- but no flats either- I'll need at least some height to see through the crowd." It was the sixth pair that he tried on that just screamed perfection.

An off color- neither purple nor blue, but could be either depending on the light that hit them- a thick heel that would give him maneuverability but was still fashionably acceptable and a platform piece under the toes that connected solidly with the heel.

They gave John an extra twelve centimeters(six inches) of height but didn't strain his legs enough to be painful- they were in fact much more comfortable than the combat boots he was used to wearing.

Once the shoes were on and strapped in place around his ankles- he would need to remember to get tights before tonight, though he would bet anything Mycroft already had some on the way- he stood on the pedestal and let the artists do their worst with their stick-pins.

Half an hour later he was let go to change back so that they could sew their changes into place, and that was when Anthea arrived to whisk him away for a spa treatment- it was the first time John had ever seen her smile with genuine amusement.

She dropped him off into the hands of some over enthusiastic women that simply cooed at him as they gave him the works.

Mani/pedi first, accompanied by a facial, body waxing- he swore revenge on Mycroft for that- a deep tissue massage- he knew it was a small apology for the waxing- and eyebrow reshaping- he made a mental note to just shave them off the next day and tell everyone that it was Sherlock's fault.

Anthea then picked him up and took him to a flat- a safe house John supposed- where Mycroft was waiting for him with tea, as well as his dress and accessories.

"I took the liberty of acquiring you a new gun for this evening." The seated man stated as he indicated for John to look over the sidearm laying on the table.

John almost mistook the Sig laying on the white table cloth to be his own, but quickly dismissed that notion when he noticed that this particular weapon had no serial number- it hadn't been filed off, it had just never been stamped in the first place.

"Now, about to tonight..." Mycroft began once the ex-soldier had satisfied himself that his new gun was in working order, fully loaded and with the safety on.

John listened as he started in on the tray of finger sandwiches- and pretended not to see Mycroft taking more of the tiny cakes than might be healthy- and was taken through the plan for the evening.

He wasn't to engage any of the terrorists or their contacts, if he saw them doing something illegal then he should just try to remember it and tell Mycroft about it afterwards.

His first and sole priority was to protect Sherlock and DI Lestrade, and John heard the unspoken plea in those words: Please don't let either my baby brother or lover get hurt tonight, I can't risk sending an agent in to do this as that would tip my hand; but you are disposable and able to get the job done, so do it.

As much as it rankled John to be consider disposable, in this situation and with this man he truly was.

By the time they had escape plans, code words, a fake name as well as history all worked out it was time for John to begin dressing.

Alone in the bedroom he stripped down to his birthday suit, and began building his new identity.

The silk boxer-briefs were a relief to see when he opened the box- he had been slightly afraid Mycroft would make him wear panties- and they fit like a dream.

Next was the garter belt and stockings- again a dream, only this one a bit more erotic- followed by a thigh holster that he would be able to reach through a special slit in the fabric of his skirt.

The dress itself was next. The tailor had even been able to add padding under the lapels so that now, with the bodice tightly wrapping his chest, he looked to be well endowed.

Walking out to the sitting area for his shoes, hair, mask and makeup, John decided to start playing his role now so that it would be in full swing by the time he was at the party.

Swishing his hips, and holding the fabric of his skirt up off the ground, John was pleased to see Mycroft's assistant finally look up from her phone for more than a few seconds.

"Now darling, you mustn't strain your eyes so with that device. You never know what you might miss if you never look up." As Anthea almost dropped her phone in surprise at John's sultry voice, the doctor didn't miss the way Mycroft was staring once more.

"If I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes I'd never believe that it was you, John." Giving Mycroft a flirty grin just to see the effects it would have- he turned red at the ears and had to avert his eyes- John sat down to let Anthea get to work on his hair and makeup.

The hair was fairly easy: pin his own short hair under a cap, set a wig in place- blonde to match his normal hair color, but swept up in a pile of curls and ringlets; a few of which hung down to frame his face- and attach it in such a way that it wouldn't move or fall off.

John just knew it was going to be more of a pain to remove than it was to get on.

The makeup was next: foundation to blend his skin tone to one uniform color, shadowed eyes to match his mask and dress- John hated the eye liner and mascara brush with a vengance- light blush and deep red lips that could almost be mistaken for being coated in black blood they were so dark.

Once she was done the brunette gave John a genuine smile and then immediately picked up her phone.

Slipping his shoes on and grabbing his mask he made his way over to the mirror.

"Now that, my dears, is what I call a pretty face." He said in his soft Scottish accent as he stared at himself.

Mycroft was right, he realized. Given the clothes, his new posture and now the hair and makeup even he didn't recognize the mysterious Lady in the mirror.

And Lady he was. His years as an officer gave him a certain bearing, and in heels that translated to an almost regal carriage.

Turning back the the other occupants of the room as Mycroft cleared his throat, John wandered over to see what was in the box he was holding.

"Put on your gloves and give me your hands." Doing as he was directed he put on the lace gloves and extended his hands.

Mycroft then opened the box and, before John could make a noise of protest, started to place the gems inside upon him.

It was a full set of matching sapphire and black diamond pieces that blended in with his overall disguise and yet made him stand out more.

A ring on his right ring finger, a bracelet on his left wrist, an ornate necklace that didn't detract from the gowns own neck piece, a pair of danglely clip-on earrings and finally a small tiara that sat nicely in the wig.

"The tiara as well as the necklace have tracing devices hidden within them, so if you run into trouble or foul play we'll still be able to find you." Relieved that the jewlery was more of a necessity than just more window dressing- they had already discussed how bugging John was out of the question because of the tightness of security at this event, and getting John cleared to carry a gun had taken all the influence he had over security- John placed his mask on- midnight blue satin trimmed in royal purple that covered him from mid forehead to just passed his nose- he let them know he was ready.

"Come on, I've a flatmate that needs to be looked after and a friend that might just need rescuing- if only from Sherlock himself." Taking the arm Mycroft offered him as the Lady he was, John let himself he packed away into a black car that would take him to the ball.

As the car pulled to a stop, and before the driver could open the door for him, he checked one last time that he had everything: gun, phone, flirty smile. All check.

As his door opened he took one last steadying breath and got out to join the party full of wolves with a smile on his face.

)

_AN: I originally intended for this to only be a oneshot, but as it just kept growing I decided to break it up into chapters._

_Please leave a review and tell me what you think, I love hearing from you all and look forward to every review alert I receive._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own!**

He was so bored, he'd come to this stupid function for two reasons and they'd both disappointed him.

First was to make some new contacts, but there was barely anybody here worth knowing let alone any new business conquests to be made.

Secondly was to irritate the Iceman, but he'd sent Sherly in after those easily handled terrorists instead of making a fuss over him- and he didn't like being ignored!

So now he was standing by one of the balcony doors, looking over the crowd and deducing just how much chaos he could cause before he grew bored enough to just leave- and that is when he saw her.

Poised in the entrance way, head lifted proudly and without a trace of fear even though she obviously wasn't used to such surroundings and turning the heads of every man lucky enough to be standing near her. She was the most beautiful creäture Jim had ever laid eyes on.

And what was more was that she had an air of secrecy about her and- judging by the concealed gun under her skirts- was clearly not here for the dancing.

Calmly pushing through his Lady's admirers- he wasn't surprised that this mystery woman had gained such a following so quickly but he wouldn't allow any of these vultures to lay a single finger on this particular jewel- Jim held out his hand and asked, in a voice that brooked no argument, if she would like to dance.

If he had his way- and he always did- this lovely Lady would be all his before the night was through.

John had walked into the large ballroom and froze almost immediately.

'How am I supposed to find Sherlock and Greg in this press let alone watch their backs?' He thought as he surveyed the room.

Just then a man walked up to him with a predatory smile and a compliment on his lips, and then another, and then another, and then another. Before he'd even stepped fully into the room he'd been surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.

John was quickly getting fed up, and was about to take a swing at one particularly crude individual- Wasn't he the Prince whose engagement they were supposed to be celebrating?- when a dark voice from out of his dreams- more like nightmares really, he still couldn't smell chlorine without getting the shakes- asked him to dance.

Making a quick decision- dance with the psychopath that had once strapped him to explosives, or continue to get leered at by men who made his flesh crawl- John grabbed Jim's proffered hand and let himself be whisked off into a slow waltz.

"My hero." He said in his sultry, feminine voice as he looked into Jim's eyes- or what he could see of them behind the half-mask- searching for any signs of recognition- though considering how good an actor Jim was it was unlikely that he'd see it even if it was there.

"Ah, my dear, if you only knew the truth..." Jim let his sentence trail off, clearly trying to unnerve and impress his dance partner.

But two could play at that game, and tonight wasn't a night that John would be backing down from any sort of challenge- certainly not after he'd been waxed half to death.

"But Jim, I thought you were here to fix it for me." John said with a small pout that quickly turned into a pleased smirk at the surprised face Jim was now supporting.

"My dear you were interesting before, but know I must say that I won't rest until I've uncovered all of your secrets. Let's start with: How do you know me?" Said the criminal genius once he picked his jaw up off the floor.

"Tsk, tsk. A woman is allowed to have her secrets, you know." John teased with a flirtatious wink as they spun once more around the room.

Though he was keeping most of his attention focused on the man holding him, John was also scanning the crowd looking for Sherlock and Greg. If he could only find them then he would feel much better.

"A woman can have her secrets, yes, but you are hardly a woman, now are you." Turning startled eyes upon his dance partner John tried to think of a retort but nothing came to mind.

"Ah, so I'm right. Don't worry, my dear, your secret is safe with. And I doubt that any other man here will be able to see through your disguise." Smirking, Jim led John through another twirl and that's when the doctor finally spotted his flatmate.

"So does that mean that Sherlock Holmes, the deductive genius, won't be able to figure it out either?" John teased as the music came to a stop.

Pulling Jim with him- he wasn't about to let the criminal genius out of his sight where the man could get up to all sorts of mischief- John headed over to where Sherlock and Greg were watching the crowd.

"Sherly! What a pleasant surprise to see you here, and dressed so sharply at that. This is a masked ball you know." Jim said by way of greeting and chastisement for Sherlock refusing to wear even a half mask.

"Jim." Sherlock barely glanced at the pair before turning back to face the shifting crowds.

"I see you've found another Adler." John visible bristled at the implication that he was anything like that Woman.

Before Jim could step forward to his defense- John found it strangely endearing that the psychopath was acting like a perfect gentleman towards him- John put on a fake smile and spoke up.

"I would thank you not to compare me to that slut. Oh! And you need to call your mother, you know how she worries." John forced himself to relax as piercing blue eyes finally latched onto him for more than a few seconds.

"Mycroft." He growled.

"I'm not working for him if that's what you're thinking- he tried to hire me once and I told his to piss off, he hasn't tried to since for some reason- I'm simply here as a favor, to protect you and the DI- though he didn't specify which one was the more important." By the time he finished speaking he had three sets of eyes fully locked on him and hanging off every word, though each for a different reason.

"And you'll protect us by dancing with my arch nemesis?" Sherlock asked in a scathing tone just as Greg asked:

"Who are you?" Ignoring Sherlock- which was no mean feat- John addressed Greg's inquiry.

"Oh! I almost forgot to introduce myself." Pulling a piece of paper from his sleeve- not that he really needed it, but the prop would serve to irritate Sherlock more- John began to go over his fake history.

Mycroft had designed it to specifically help throw Sherlock off the track of figuring out that it was really John.

"Don't deny that you are who you are, that will simply make you stand out more to him. Just tease him with your real identity while flaunting the fact that you haven't told him your real name, he won't suspect that you are really John Watson in a dress until after you are all safely home from the ball." Keeping this in mind John began to read off the main facts of who he was tonight.

"My name is Joan Henrietta Wilson. I was a nurse with the RAMC, I was medically discharged with the rank of Captain after sustaining an injury in my right leg giving me a limp." All four men looked down at his right leg as he picked it up and twirled his foot a moment.

"Let's just assume that I had physiotherapy and that's why it's gone." He said with grin as he went back to his list.

"I'm currently sharing a flat with a mentally challenged," Jim began laughing at this point, and Greg wasn't too far behind him, "man, who needs constant supervision and attention or else he devolves into a stroppy mess." The affronted look on Sherlock's face nearly made John join the other two in their laugh.

"Now I'd love to stay and chat, but I'd rather dance; and if I'm not mistaken that woman over there, taking a bribe, is the one you're supposed to be keeping an eye on." As the detective turned to see that his target was indeed taking a bribe- out in public and with no regard as to who saw, he sneered at the woman's sheer stupidity- Greg leaned into John's personal space to ask:

"Next dance is mine, yeah?" Nodding in agreement, John let Jim lead him back to the dance floor.

"So... Joan. Interesting name. Would you mind telling me your real one?" Giving a flirtatious smirk- the same one that had made Mycroft blush and now was making Jim's pulse pick up- John batted his eyelashes and purred out:

"And what makes you think that I would give you a straight answer?" Jim's laugh followed them across the floor and into the the next song.

"My dear, I think I'll keep you." John was startled to realize that the prospect of Jim 'keeping' him was an upsetting one, quite the opposite in fact if he was being honest.

Jim was reluctant to part with 'Joan' when the DI approached for his dance, but he let his jewel go for a short time so as to make sure that they wouldn't be interrupted later by Sherlock's antics.

"And what do you want now, or have you finally lost interest in the hired help?" Holding in his temper- he really shouldn't be this sensitive about someone he only just met, but their was something about 'Joan' that just made him feel protective- Jim gave the detective his fakest smile.

"Hardly, she is quite the woman after all. No, I'm here to help you." His statement was met by a scoff.

"Honestly I am. I want to get to know Joan better and I can hardly do that if she's constantly watching out for you, and poised to spring to your aid at the slightest provocation. So I'll help you stop these petty terrorists so that you can leave and I can get back to my gem of a dance partner." Sherlock grudgingly accepted Jim's help after that, but he made a mental note to find out more about this 'Joan' woman- any person that could capture Jim Moriarty's interest was certainly worth a second glance.

Their second uninterrupted dance ended and Greg led 'Joan' to one side of the dance floor to begin the search for the geniuses.

"So. Mycroft sent you?" Greg asked as they each began searching the crowded room for signs of the two men that had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

"Yes, and I believe that it was concern for your safety that finally convinced him to send me in. He cares deeply for you, you know." Blushing lightly, Greg brought John's hand to his lips and lightly kissed 'Joan's' knuckles.

"I know, but a Lady's opinion can put to rest the most unwarranted of concerns. Thank you." Before he could reply the geniuses popped up behind them with matching satisfied grins.

Recognizing Sherlock's 'I just got away with something I shouldn't have' look, John slipped a petulant frown on his face and scolded the two men.

"Don't tell me I've missed out on the fun, you should have come get me! As lovely as dancing with Greg has been I would have loved to take part in whatever you two have been up to." Letting his frown fade he replaced it with a teasing smile.

"And just when did you two get close enough to start solving crimes together?" Turning to Sherlock, 'Joan' met his eyes with an innocent stare.

"I thought you only took that doctor of yours crime solving, don't tell me you're cheating on him!" As Sherlock tried to find his voice- John decided that he would need to wear a dress more often if he was able to render his flatmate speechless by teasing him while wearing one- Jim grabbed John and started back towards the circling dancers.

But before they could get into position and take their first step, Sherlock interceded himself and whisked John away from a furiously glaring Jim.

"I'm not too sure that that was a wise move on your part." John started as they made their first turn.

"He knew what I would do, that's why he was trying to get you away from me as soon as possible." When nothing more was forth coming from the detective- who was obviously and furiously trying to deduce everything he could about 'Joan'- John pressed for more answers.

"And why would he want to keep us apart?" Instead of answering the question, Sherlock began listing his deductions.

"You really were in the Army at one point, you were discharged some time ago but have never let your old training get rusty. You are carrying a gun strapped to your right thigh and have access to it through an artful slit in the side of your dress, you also have the skill and inclination to use it- more so than you like to admit since you don't enjoy killing without a reason." John was valiantly biting his tongue on the urge to either argue his case or call the man before him brilliant.

"You don't often wear heels- haven't worn them in quite some time- but are truly enjoying the extra height afforded by them tonight. Also you are a man who is comfortable wearing drag, but you are not a drag queen- it's more of a hobby of yours that you are indulging in tonight than a way of life. Finally, you are finding yourself unexpectedly attracted to Jim Moriarty even though you know that you shouldn't be." Ending his spiel, Sherlock waited for a slap- the man in front of him was doing good at pretending to be female and so might very well resort to a feminine response- or a quick telling off.

After a few moments of neither eventuality happening he turned his eyes back to his dance partner, 'Joan' was wearing a soft smile and looking at him with something like awe in his eyes.

"Truly amazing." John whispered as the song ended.

As the next song began, and before Sherlock could form a reply- only one man had ever not hated him for his deductions and this certainly couldn't be him as John would never subject himself to wearing a dress, nor would he ever be comfortable in heels- Jim swept in and twirled 'Joan' away across the floor.

"We should have made a bet." John said as a jealous Jim pulled him further and further from a still stunned Sherlock.

"Why?" John smiled at his disgruntled dance partner.

"I'll tell you why if you tell me what you and Sherlock were up to." Jim pouted for only a moment before he began to speak.

"We cornered the people he was after, forced them to give recorded confessions and then turned them over to the Ice Man's people."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You two were far too smug for just having helped arrest some traitors and terrorists. So what else happened?" Jim hummed a moment before answering.

"I did mention that we 'forced them to confess', didn't I?" John just stared for a moment before beginning to laugh, he was finding it quite hard to keep his chuckles low and feminine as he was overcome with mirth.

"Now tell me why we should have made a bet, 'Joan'." Jim said once John had himself under control again.

"Oh, yes, well it seems Sherlock was able to tell that I'm not really a woman after all. So if we'd made a bet I would have won." Smiling, John led Jim off the dance floor and out onto a balcony. He really needed some fresh air to clear his head but for some reason he didn't want to part with Jim to do so.

Jim the dance partner and conversationalist was turning out to be someone very different to the psychotic bomber John had met before, and he was also still struggling with Sherlock's spot on deduction of his new-found attraction to the man.

"Yes, he is quite observant, but there is something that I can do that he never will." Jim said as the moved into the clear night air.

"And that is?" Turning to the brunette criminal at his side any remaining questions were answered by a pair of soft yet insistent lips claiming his own.

It started out gentle, so very gentle, but quickly grew heated as John gave himself over to the sensations.

John had never kissed a man before- hadn't even considered the idea since he was a teen and Harry had come out of the closet just to be disowned by their parents and ridiculed by their peers- but he was quickly coming to enjoy the overwhelming feeling of having his mouth dominated by Jim.

Breaking away for air, John rested his head against Jim's tux clad shoulder while he tried to calm his racing heart.

"I should go." He finally managed to get out.

"Why would you want to do that?" Jim asked in a voice as quiet as the one John had used.

"If I don't go now I don't think I'll ever be able to leave." Bringing his head up to once more look Jim in the eye, John was amazed at the open expression he saw there, it made his knees feel weak.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Silencing all other protests with another kiss- this one so full of passion that John was surprised when they both didn't just burst into flames- a small sound from the entrance to the balcony made them pull apart.

It was a gun being cocked.

In the ensuing chaos of 'Joan's' escape, Sherlock approached Jim who was looking over the gun that had been dropped by the disguised man after he'd taken the bullet meant Jim's heart.

"He saved my life." The detective said nothing to this as there was no need to.

"I take it your badgering of your brother didn't elicit his real name." There was no need to elaborate further on just who was meant, they both wanted to know who the man that had caught their interest-and heart, in Jim's case- was.

"All he'll say is that it's not his secret to give and to figure it out for myself, and then he pestered me about calling Mummy again." Blowing out a huff of air, he was thoroughly dissatisfied with the events of the night, the detective looked over the gun in the criminal's hands as the body was being cordoned off and the guests ushered away from the scene.

A standard service gun- same model as John owned, another of Mycroft's little jokes he realized- no serial number and probably never been used before this night so that it would be completely untraceable. Sometimes his brother was just too good at what he did, Sherlock grudgingly admitted as he couldn't deduce a past to the gun to help them find the escaped 'Joan'.

"I'm going to find him, Sherlock." Said man looked over the speaking man at that.

It was more the tone of voice than the words that set alarms going off for the detective, he had heard that tone before from people being effected by sentiment.

"Even if I have to burn the World to a cinder, I will find him."


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Chapter Warning: Mild torture near the end, but nothing graphic. Sorry, but that's just the way the chapter decided it wanted to go._

**Disclaimer: Sir Aurthor Conan Doyal is a God, Moffat and Gattis are his angels, I am neither; so it stands to reason that I don't own anything recognizable here.**

John walked into the sitting room and froze.

He had been on 'sensitive government business'- though in reality he'd been on a vacation in Italy, fully paid for by Mycroft, and everyone knew it- for the last two weeks while his eyebrows grew back and his arm healed- though everyone, including Sherlock, thought that it was punishment for having been left behind the day of the ball- and was just now coming home.

The last thing he had expected to see upon arrival wasn't Jim Moriarty, sitting in his chair with Sherlock lost in thought across from him- Greg, who had been the one to pick John up from the airport, had told him all about the ball he thought John hadn't been at and about Sherlock's new 'friend' hanging around 221- but the Crown Jewels- supposedly having been taken from their case for cleaning four days prior- sitting on their coffee table was.

Deciding that he could either react to or accept and ignore what was going on, John went with the choice that was least likely to get him tried as an accessory to treason- as least as long as he stayed on the good sides of all the geniuses in his life.

Dropping his luggage by the stair leading to his room, and hanging his coat on its hook, he headed to the kitchen with a sigh.

"Tea?" He called out, not really expecting an answer from anyone.

"You're out." Came the Irish accented reply from the sitting room, making John shiver- he was thankful he was out of sight of the living room by that point- in remembrance of when he'd last heard that voice.

Pushing all thoughts of deep, passion filled kisses out of his head, John began looking through the kitchen- trying desperately to ignore the unnamed molds and things Sherlock was growing in there- looking for anything edible.

Taking one last look in the cupboards he realized that they were out of EVERYTHING, turning back to the door John pulled his jacket back on.

"I'm going to the store, either of you need anything?" He politely asked as he mentally figured up if he had enough money on his card to get even half of what they needed.

"Your taking this all awfully well." Jim drawled as he finally turned tired eyes on the doctor, the man looked as if he hadn't slept any in the two weeks since John had last seen him.

"Well, your hardly the worst thing Sherlock's surprised me with on coming home. I think the live octopuses in the tub and spider crabs in my bed have that honor." John said wih an absent smile as he made for the door.

"Oi! Here." Turning, John brought a hand up to catch the object being tossed at his head, it was a set of keys.

"The blue sportster down the block is mine, card's in the glove box, number's 1-8-9-5, make sure to pick up some chocolate biscuits." John stared a moment then nodded and left.

If Jim Moriarty wanted to pick up the tab for his shopping trip then he wouldn't be the one to argue.

The car was easy enough to find, was a dream to drive and in no time at all John was at the store picking up everything he could think of- and not forgetting the chocolate biscuits.

Two hours, three loaded baskets and a headache from trying to fit it all in the compact sportster later and John was headed back to the flat.

Taking the first load up to the flat he noticed that Mycroft was finally there- John had idly wondered just when the elder Holmes would make an appearance to try and reclaim the Jewels.

"Do either of you realize just how childish your behavior is? All these schemes just to find out the identity of someone who wishes to remain anonymous, it's ridiculous." John exchanged a nod of greeting with Mycroft- trusting the man to not spill the beans about the part he had played that night- and headed back down for the next load of bags.

Coming up again he heard Jim talking this time.

"If you'd just tell us then we wouldn't be having problems like this. And just for your information: the only reason I haven't resorted to killing random people yet over this is that I don't want to take the chance of hurting 'Joan' on accident once the bullets start flying." Descending the stairs again, John turned that bit of information over in his mind.

He had been thinking that Jim had only been interested in a one night stand type of deal, and that was one reason why he had practically begged Mycroft not to let anyone know that he'd been 'Joan', but now it was sounding like the man had true feelings for him.

It was confusing and made his head hurt trying to wrap his mind around what a criminal genius could possibly see in him- and there had been even less to see in 'Joan' that night.

Third set of heavy bags up the stairs, and with still no sign of anyone attempting to help him, John was a little taken aback by the silence rolling out of the flat in waves.

Pushing the door open cautiously- just in case someone **cough** Mycroft **cough** was dead and he would need to drop everything and either give assistance or an alibi- John was relieved to see that it was only a staring contest going on.

A very scary staring contest between Mycroft- THE British Government, a man that could make you disappear to the point that your own mother wouldn't remember you- and Jim Moriarty- the one and only Consulting Criminal, a man that could topple Governments with a single phone call.

John shivered at the icy tension permeating the room, wondered briefly how Sherlock could possibly ignore it, and why he hadn't joined in, and made his way back to the car for the final load.

Slipping back into the flat, John was pleaded to note that the tension was gone and no-one was dead. But it took him a minute to figure out why.

Jim and Sherlock were both intently staring at him, and Mycroft was picking up the Crown and other pieces in preparation of leaving.

Knowing that there was only one bit of information that could be causing this reaction, John turned a cold glare on the tall ginger and asked:

"Just what did you tell them?" Mycroft sighed but didn't look guilty, so John squared his shoulders and closed down his expression in preparation of the upcoming answer.

"The only way I could leave with the Jewels without incident was to give them a clue about their mysterious dance partner, and so I told them that you are personally acquainted with 'Joan'. Now that that is settled I shall take my leave. Good day." John stood frozen to the spot as Mycroft left, leaving him alone with two highly inquisitive and amoral geniuses who looked ready to pounce.

It could have been worse, he rationalized, Mycroft could have just told them outright that he had been 'Joan'. He just wasn't yet ready to let Sherlock- to say nothing of Jim- know that though.

Turning to face the two geniuses, he knew that he had no hope of out smarting them; but maybe he could out stubborn them.

"Before you ask, the answer is yes: I do know who 'she' was that night. And no, I'm not saying a word until 'she' feels ready." Realizing that, though his words had been heard, he was going to be ignored completely, John moved into the kitchen to begin putting things away- and to maybe clean some of the nastier growths up, he thought one might even be growling at him.

"Should I cook?" He called out over his shoulder, hoping to distract either man from whatever plan they were already forming- even though he knew it was a useless effort.

"Or do you want to go out? You two can plan and scheme on how you'll make me talk over dinner, so choose." When no answer was forth coming, John just kept talking.

"Going out sounds nice. But where? Angelo's would be good, but I've had enough Italian food for a while. Somewhere different would be good." Putting the last can in its place, John turned to see both men standing in the kitchen doorway and still staring at him.

"Okay, that's just creepy now." He laughed out as he backed away a step, he had no illusions about how destructively dangerous just one of these men could be when trying to get an answer that they really wanted and he really didn't want to find out how bad both of them together could be.

Even Mycroft had seemed wary of angering their combined forces.

Just as he began to wonder if making a break for it would be worth it or not, Jim smiled. It looked like someone had flipped a switch so fast was the transformation from intent to happy.

"Dinner is a great idea! Don't you think so, Sherlock?" The detective had put on his 'bored' mask in lieu of a smile, but John could tell that his reasoning for doing so had been the same as for Jim.

They had both decided to lull him into a false sense of security and then badger him for information, he was already exhausted just thinking about how much they would bug him and analyze his most infinitesimal of reactions.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just torture it out of me?" He asked, and was only half-joking.

"No. It we did that we couldn't be sure that you gave us accurate information." Sherlock said as he reached for his coat and Jim called in reservations.

"But if you'd like to save us all some time and tell us now..." Jim put in as he shrugged on his own outerwear.

Ignoring the almost question, John shrugged into his coat yet again and headed back down stairs.

Tossing Jim his keys back, John climbed into the minimal back seat so that the two geniuses would have to ride upfront together.

The two didn't appear putout in the slightest, and John momentarily wondered just what sort of game he had got himself involved in.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

Dinner had been amazing, at the best restaurant in the city no less.

Sherlock had tried to entertain John by deducing the lives of everyone around them, Jim had made easy conversation between the deductions that Sherlock had nearly been kicked out for- quite possibly the highlight of the evening that was- and John had eaten a meal that cost more than he made in a month.

So: amazing.

Arriving back at 221, John put the kettle on for tea as Jim and Sherlock settled in their chairs once more- John had already decided that his chair was now semi-permanently Jim's chair.

Tea made and passed out, John sat down on the sofa and picked up a newspaper from the table top.

"Still not telling you." He said into the silence, and was answered by more silence.

Smiling into his mug, John mentally checked himself off as having won round one. He had no doubt that he'd lose eventually, and possibly quite soon, but he had learned to enjoy his victories when they came- no matter how small.

Eventually he went to bed to allow his geniuses some alone time to strategize, and to rest himself up for the oncoming trials he knew were ahead of him.

But he would be damned before he gave-in now that he'd made a point about not saying anything.

It was three o'clock in the morning when John was startled awake from a nightmare, and Sherlock was in the sitting room hacking away at the stings of his violin in a maddening rhythm; but these were all common place occurrences in 221b.

What was odd was the body lying next to John in his bed.

"Jim? Are you asleep?" The slightly disheveled criminal turned over to look at John through the darkness.

"I was until he started that racket. How do you manage to sleep with that going on?" John snorted at that- like anyone could sleep with that going on.

"I don't. Oh, and Jim?" John started out carefully, not wanting to offend the Consulting Genius.

"What?" Jim mumbled through the pillow he was trying to muffle his head with.

"Um, just why are you in my bed?" John asked delicately so as not to annoy Jim more than Sherlock's playing was already doing.

"I was tired and Sherlock wouldn't let me use his bed." The brunette said this as if it explained everything, and if John were a genius then it might, but he let the matter drop once Sherlock started hitting some particularly shrill notes.

Sensing his unexpected bed-mate's growing frustration, John slipped out from under his covers and headed downstairs.

Placing a hand over the screaming strings, John silenced the cacophony.

"Play quietly, play well or don't play at all. Some of us are trying to sleep- no matter how boring you believe that activity to be- and would appreciate some quiet." Not getting any response- not even a demand for information about 'Joan' in return for his silence- John hesitantly returned to his room and the Criminal Mastermind sleeping there.

Crawling under his covers, and basking in the warmth that Jim brought to his bed, John drifted off to the sound of Sherlock's quiet playing.

There were no more nightmares after that, now that he knew that Jim was there just beside him he felt surprisingly safe and was able to sleep soundly.

The next day was much like the first, and so was the third and fourth. Before he knew it an entire week had passed by in a blur of fancy dinners with Jim- sometimes with Sherlock, sometimes not- good company, a warm bed partner- Jim always snuck into his bed just after he had fallen asleep and he was getting quite used to waking up as the 'little spoon'- and quiet violin music in the early morning hours.

Not once did either man press him for more information, and John was a bit worried about that. Things were going so well that he knew that it couldn't last, soon either Sherlock or Jim or both would begin to demand answers that he still wasn't sure he wanted to give.

On the eighth day after his return to 221, John was drugged and dragged into the back of a waiting van- much to his unsurprise.

Coming to, and thinking that Jim had finally grown impatient with his lack of answers, John was surprised to see someone else entirely.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met." But they had, John knew.

His kidnapper was the oily man from the ball, the one that had made his flesh crawl with just a look, the Prince whose name he couldn't recall now for the life of him.

"What do you want?" John tried to say, but only managed about half the words before he was silenced by a backhanded blow.

"Silence! You will speak only when spoken to!" The rage vanished just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving John with the impression that the man was crazier than the persona Jim had used at the Pool.

"Now you're probably wondering just what I want. Well, you see, it's like this: I met the most stunningly beautiful woman to ever walk this earth at a party some weeks ago, and now I can't find a trace of her. Your friends with a detective that was there that night, so I'm going to use you to make him find her for me. Doesn't that sound nice?" Before he even realized that he was supposed to answer, several more blows were landed on him.

"Speak! You wouldn't shut up before! So why won't you speak now?!" Thankfully- before any type of sever trauma could be inflicted- a distraction came, it took the form of an underling carrying a laptop.

"Your Highness, it is ready." The servant placed the laptop down and left without a second look in John's direction, and the doctor wondered just how many other people had been given a 'personal interview' with the Prince such as this.

"Ah, yes. Time to hire my detective." The mad-royal said, obviously to himself.

As the Prince positioned the computer so that the camera would pick up John as well as himself, John managed to see Greg looking out at him from the otherside of the Skype feed.

"Do I have the honor of addressing the Great Sherlock Holmes?" John could barely keep himself from laughing as Greg nodded in affirmation.

"Oh, good!" The royal nearly squealed with delight, turning a large smile of his hostage before refocusing on the computer.

"I have a proposition for you: the return of your man for all the information you can find on a delicate little flower you may have met at the ball last month. What do you say?"

"Sounds fair, but I'll need to know as much of the woman in question as possible in order to find her for you."

"Of course! Of course. Now lets see: her name was... actually I never got her name. She was blond though, and very beautiful. I'm sure that should be enough for anyone to go on." John could barely hold back the laughter that threatened to overtake him at the sheer stupidity of this man, only the fact that he was tied down and completely at his mercy kept John's mirth in check.

"Sure, no problem. Is that all?" Greg said in his best aloof manner, but a smidgen of sarcasm snuck through and was immediately pounced upon.

"You dare mock me!" Screamed the Prince as he tossed the computer away from him, shattering the screen and thus ending the call.

"No-one mocks me!" He continued on in this vein for a time, screaming up a storm and occasionally throwing things, only stopping once he remembered that John was in the room with him.

"That was terribly rude of me," he said as he straightened his clothes and smoothed down his hair, "I'm sure that you're not at all interested in my little problems." When John made no sound in answer, as he didn't think he was supposed to, the Prince lost it again.

"How dare you!" He screamed to John's utter confusion, and tossed the first thing he laid hands on- a lamp, but thankfully not an overly-heavy one- at John's head.

Unable to move enough to duck the flying light, John had to sit there as it shattered against his forehead.

The Prince then stalked out of the room, leaving John to wonder at just how bad the damage was since he could already feel a trickle of blood running down his face.

A few minutes after the Prince had thrown his little tantrum, and not long after John decided that the wound was in his scalp and probably wasn't too bad, the doors to the room burst open and Jim came striding in with Sherlock hot on his heels.

"Johnny!" Jim cried out as he rushed to John's side, and quite firmly smashed their lips together.

Kissing back without a second thought, John was surprised at just how much he had been longing for this without realizing it.

Breaking for air, and giving Sherlock a chance to fully cut John free of the binding ropes, John asked the question that he should have realized needed asking days ago.

"When did you figure it out?" Jim smirked at that as he pressed a handkerchief to John's torn scalp.

"At dinner that first night. You didn't think I'd crawl into bed with just anyone, did you?" Turning confused eyes on Sherlock as he was helped to his feet- the sudden dizziness he felt might have been from a concussion or the aftereffects of whatever drug he'd been given, but he'd just have to wait to see which it was- and silently asked for him to clarify things.

"We were suspicious as soon as Mycroft said that you knew who 'Joan' was, your reactions throughout dinner to our various stimuli simply confirmed it." They were making their way out of the penthouse suit that the Prince had taken for his base if operations and to the elevators by this point.

John wanted to ask where everyone was since he was sure that there should be people around- he would later learn that they had all scampered off at the first sign of trouble, of which Jim and Sherlock could dish-out in spades- but he decided to continue with his original line of questioning first so that he didn't lose the thread of reasoning.

"So why didn't you call me out on it right away then?" He stumbled over his feet at the same moment that the elevator doors opened, and Jim was all too happy to snuggle him close and hold him tight and upright.

"You obviously didn't want us to know, so I convinced 'Lock here to not say a word until you were ready." Touched by Jim's thoughtfulness, and suitably impressed that he'd been able to convince Sherlock not to simply blurt out a deduction, John leaned a bit more into Jim's shoulder and purred out in his 'Joan' voice:

"I appreciate that Jim, I really do." It was such a lovely 'Happily Ever After' type moment, and John wasn't a bit surprised when Sherlock ruined it.

"Now that I know your capabilities, John, I really think that 'Joan' could be a real asset in some of our cases." John was about to ask how when Jim spoke up and tightened his possessive hold around John's waist.

"Oh, no! He's not wearing a dress for anyone but ME." As the two geniuses began bickering about case needs and personal desires, John simply relaxed and watched the flashing numbers as they headed down to the lobby.

Life would never be easy with these two around, he mused, but at least he would never be bored.

)

_AN.2: Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to drop a review. I love to hear what people think of my stories!_


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